


The Pale Horseman

by IronT



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Becoming AU maybe, Post Season 2, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronT/pseuds/IronT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a beast in the heart of man, and it comes alive when you put a gun in his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Say Yes

It was inevitable that he'd get raided. His activity could be tolerated for only so long. It only surprises Frank it took them so long. It happens four days after he last saw Karen, some time after midnight. He wakes up to the crunching thump of his door coming off its hinges, and the familiar, awful clatter of a grenade on floorboards. George barks angrily, Frank lunges for his pistol, and then the world explodes into white light.

Someone hits him in the temple with a rifle stock and the light goes out.

\---

His head hurts. He can't see much more than a dizzying blur, and his ears feel like someone drove nails into his eardrums. He can still smell though, and he can smell gasoline and garbage and the stink of the Hudson. If he had to guess, he's in a warehouse on the docks. Which means the guys that grabbed him aren't police. That leaves Feds and crooks. He's not sure which he'd prefer honestly. Both are equally likely to leave him at the bottom of the river.

His eyes are starting to come back into commission. He can see shadows, shipping containers, crates, and blurry outlines of men. He can see the lights of New York through an open door in front of him. That means he's in New Jersey, which also means that the guys that snatched him wanted privacy. The Devil didn't leave Hell’s Kitchen. He blinks rapidly, and the world comes into focus. The guys aren't criminals. Criminals don't wear night optics, and they don't usually have assault rifles.

“He's awake.” A man kneels in front of him, flashes a light in his eyes, prods the bruise on his temple with an unsympathetic finger. “Everything seems to be where it should be.”

“Thank you Sergeant.” A man in uniform steps into view. There's a star on his chest, and a green beret on his head. “That will be all.” The man’s voice is familiar, but Frank can't seem to place it. He can barely think through the headache pounding in his skull. Despite what is definitely a concussion, ancient knowledge digs itself out of its grave in his memories. The man’s a general. The general is a green beret. Frank tries to make out a unit insignia, gives up, and lets his chin drop to his chest.

There's a flicker of light. The general is lighting a cigar. The flame dances across his face, and Frank can make out two steely green eyes and a thick grey mustache.

“Remember me soldier?” The general asks

“General Thaddeus Ross, Joint Special Operations Command.” Frank spits, he's missing a tooth. “Formerly of Fifth Special Forces Group.”

Ross chuckles around his cigar. “Captain Frank Castle, First Special Operations Detachment.” Ross crouches so that he and Frank are eye to eye. “Formerly of the U.S Marines.”

Frank coughs as cigar smoke clogs his nostrils. Ross grunts.

“Been a while Captain.”

“Year and a half sir.” Frank tries to nod. The chair makes it difficult.

Ross turns away from Frank. “Everyone out.” His men leave without a word. Frank lets his chin return to his chest. Looking up was giving him a cramp.

There’s a scraping sound. Ross is dragging a stool across the floor. The sound is excruciating. It stops, and Ross sits, facing Frank.

“They told me you were fucked up, but Jesus Christ.” Ross exhales another cloud of smoke. “You look like shit Frank.”

Frank laughs. Blood spatters on his jeans. Mouth wounds bleed. “You spend all this effort just to mother me sir?”

“No.” Ross replies. “I did not.” He draws a photograph from his jacket pocket. “I came to ask you some questions. Do you know the men in this photograph?”

Ross thrusts the photo under Frank’s nose. It's a picture of two men shaking hands.

“The one on the left is Captain America.” Frank mumbles. “Steve Rodgers.”

Ross leans forward. “And the one on the right?”

“No clue.” The cigar smoke isn't helping Frank’s headache. He's feeling a little petty, so he spits on the photo. Ross snarls. “Should I, sir?”

Ross wipes the photograph off on Frank’s jeans.  
“The other man is James Barnes, the Winter Soldier.”

“He was in D.C.” Recognition dawns.

“He was,” Ross affirms. “He was responsible for the deaths of two thousand people.”

“I saw the news.” Frank says. “Guy’s a super soldier. Like Rodgers, right?”

“Like Rodgers.” Ross sounds pleased. “Same body, same skills. They'd almost be twins if Barnes wasn't insane.”

“Insane, sir?”

“Barnes was a Soviet attempt to make their own Captain America. It worked, but they broke his mind. Barnes is effectively a robot, who lives to follow orders.”

The perfect soldier follows orders Captain Castle. The memory crawls into Frank's head. He's in Iraq, in Mosul, it's his third tour, and he's just watched a militia shoot women and children in the street. He's been ordered to stand down and do nothing.

“Sounds like someone you'd like sir.” Frank says. When Ross hits him, it isn't a surprise.

“Don't give me lip boy.” Ross barks. “I can leave you at the bottom of the Hudson tonight. I made your ass and I can unmake you just as easy.” Ross grabs him by the hair and makes him look up. “You get me soldier?”

Frank smirks. Ross hits him again. “I asked you a question.”

“I get you sir.” Frank says.

Appeased, the general returns to his stool. He taps the photo. “That picture was taken four days after D.C. Rodgers met with a known terrorist, a man who had killed thousands of Americans, and not only failed to detain him, but actively aided in his evasion of law enforcement.”

Frank flexes his jaw experimentally. It didn't feel broken. “So your boy is off the reservation. You've got evidence, arrest him. What's this got to do with me?”

“I can't.” Ross spits out the stub of his cigar. “Rodgers is the new American darling. He could kill a baby in the street and not get so much as a parking ticket.” Ross tucks the photo back in his jacket. “Barnes is safe so long as the only man capable of putting him in the dirt is unwilling to pull the trigger.”

“You want me to kill Barnes.”

“I want you to kill Barnes.” Ross nods.

Frank laughs. “You're kidding.” The idea is just stupid. Barnes would break him in half. He laughs louder. The general doesn't. “You're not kidding.” Ross shakes his head. “You're fucking nuts.” The laughter was a bad idea. It's made his headache worse.

“No Captain Castle, I am not.” Ross replies. “I need a man capable of doing things other men can't. Things other men won't.”

  
The pain in Frank's head is becoming increasingly intense. “You, uh, you don't see a problem sir?”

“A problem?”

“Yeah.” Frank coughs. The pain is making his world spin. Holding his head up is torture. “He's a superman. I'm not.” The world is going fuzzy. “M’ just a guy.”

Ross must've heard the slur in Frank’s voice. Frank hears him call for a medic before the world goes dark. He wakes up to rough hands tilting his head back, and there's a prick of a needle. The world swims back into focus, and the pain subsides.

“Tell me your name, age, and today's date.” This isn't Ross, it's someone new. The medic probably.

“Frank Castle, thirty four, March fifteenth two thousand sixteen.”

“He's here sir.” The medic says.

“Clear his head.” That's Ross’ voice.

Someone dumps ice cold water over Frank’s head. It's like electricity shooting over his body. Every muscle screams in protest.

“Fuck you!” Frank gasps for air, his lungs heaving. “Fucking prick bastard, fuck you!”

Ross laughs. So do others. “Lot of energy for a man with a concussion Captain.” Ross is lighting another cigar. “You done?”

Frank closes his eyes and lets the pain roll over him. His muscles relax, and his lungs expand.

“I'm done.”

“Good.” Ross waves a hand, and he and Frank are alone once more. “Now, are you listening to me?”

Frank looks up at the general. “I'm listening sir.”

Ross kneels in front of Frank. The two men are almost nose to nose. Frank can smell tobacco and gin.“I've been in this man’s Army for forty three years boy,” Ross rumbles. “forty three long and bloody years. I've seen every type of soldier that has ever walked God’s green earth. I've seen shitbags and I've seen super soldiers. I’ve seen them all, led them all, and fought them all.” The general jabs a finger into Frank’s chest. “But in those forty three years Captain Castle, I have never met a soldier like you.”

“Didn't know you liked me like that sir.” Frank tries to smirk, but his face isn't up to it.

“What did the Taliban call you?” Ross asks. “In Afghanistan, you had a nickname. What was it?”

“The Scourge of God.” Frank says. “Something like that anyway.” He laughs gently. “I heard one of their mullahs say I was God’s punishment for the sins of the wicked.”

“They still call you the Pale Horseman at Bragg.” Ross says softly. “You're a legend Frank, a warrior saint.”

Frank feels himself smile. It hurts. “Bragg change since I left?”

Ross shook his head. “Not the bit that matters. Compound is just the same.”

There's a long silence, during which Ross smokes, and Frank bleeds.

“Do you remember a guy by the name Emil Blonsky?” Ross asks. “Royal Marine. Tough man.”

“Hulk killed him right?”

“Something like that.” Ross nods. “Emil volunteered for an experimental program, something that would let him kill the Hulk.”

“And?”

“What do you think Frank?” Ross snorts. “He died.”

“Right.” Frank can feel a bruise growing on his jaw. “What's your point?”

“Emil volunteered for an experiment attempting to replicate the Captain America serum.” Ross said. “All our attempts at replicating the experiment that made Rodgers what he is, have failed, killing the subjects.”

Frank can practically hear the _but_.

“But things have changed.” There's excitement in Ross’ voice, a nervous energy.

“Yeah?”

“We found an original dose.” Ross says. The general’s voice is hoarse with excitement. “A perfect sample of the same process that created Captain America. We can make a soldier better than Rodgers ever was”

_I've never seen a soldier like you. You're a legend Frank._

_I want you to kill Barnes._

_Oh fucking Christ._

“You want me to be your guinea pig.” Frank groans.

“I want you to be the soldier this nation needs Frank.” Ross says. The general grips Frank’s shoulders and shakes him. “New York, five thousand dead. D.C, two thousand dead. Johannesburg, fifteen hundred dead. Sokovia, fifteen thousand dead. Twenty three thousand and five hundred people dead in a single year, killed because an organization that is totally unaccountable for its actions has been allowed to run amok. There needs to be someone to keep them in check.” Ross looks genuinely distressed. His eyes are wild. “Your country is in danger Captain Castle, and it needs a man like you to keep it safe. There's a war to fight Frank, and your country needs you to fight it.”

Frank understands. He really does. General Thaddeus Ross loves his country, he loves these United States the way Frank loved Maria, loved Lisa, and Frank Junior.

“I understand sir.” Frank says, and it hurts to watch the hope die in Ross’ eyes. “But I'm not the man for the job. I have my war.”

The punch knocks Frank over on to the floor. His head bounces off the concrete. Ross roars in fury, ramming his foot into Frank’s gut.

“You selfish bastard!” Ross howls. “You selfish bastard!” He kicks Frank again. And again. And again. “You have nothing else! Your wife is dead. Your kids are dead. Their killers are dead! It's over! You have nothing!”

Frank feels heat well up in his gut. He's bleeding internally.

“I'm offering you a new life!” Ross screams. “A new cause! A new war!” He kicks Frank again, and falls back, panting. “That's what you want isn't it? A war. It's not about your family. It's never been about your fucking family has it? You wanted a war.”

“Leave my family out of this.” Frank wheezes. His ribs are pulverized, and just breathing is agony. “Leave them out of this.”

“You know what Frank?” Ross shouts back. “Fuck your family. They're dead. They're dead, and they aren't coming back. And no matter how many piece of shit gangsters and dope pushers you pump full of holes, they're never coming back. There's no cure for pain like that. I know it, and you know it. So don't tell me this is about your fucking family. This is about you.”

“I'm going to kill you.” Frank’s voice comes out in a ragged scream that tears his throat. “I'll fucking kill you!”

Ross shoves Frank over onto his back, and looms over him. “You can't save them Frank.” Ross says. “They're dead. It's over.”

“Fuck you.” Frank tries to spit. Blood spills over his chin and stains his teeth.

“I know you loved them Frank. I know you loved Maria. But she's gone. You can't protect her.”

“War’s not over.” Frank snarls. “Not until I surrender, it's not fucking over!”

“Look around Frank.” Ross groans. “You're in a warehouse tied to a chair. It was over a long time ago.”

“Fuck you.”

“There's only two ways tonight ends Frank.” Ross picks himself up and turns away. “You say yes, and we fly down to Bragg tomorrow, or you say no, and I leave you at the bottom of the Hudson river.”

Frank stares up at the ceiling. Lying on his back, blood from his mouth is falling down his face into his nose and eyes.

“Better shoot me then.” Frank says. “I've got nothing better to do.”

“Not that dog?” Ross asks. “What about the blonde, Cathy Page.”

“Karen.” Frank says without thinking. “Her name is Karen.”

“Uh oh.” Ross murmurs. “You can't hide from Daddy Ross boy. That girl matters to you doesn't she?”

Ross kneels over Frank, and Frank can't avoid his gaze.

“She's...she's good.”

“She’s good?” Ross snorts. “That the best you've got, she's good? Jesus H Christ but you are one miserable son of a bitch.”

Ross hauls Frank bodily up right. “She ever tell you she killed someone?” Ross asks.

“How do you know that?” Frank asks. “You following her?”

“Don't be jealous.” Ross laughs. “We were following the man she killed.”

“Oh.”

“Wilson Fisk knows what happened to Wesley.” Ross says as he tears at the duct tape around Frank’s wrist. “He knows who did it.”

The spasm of animal terror that rips through Frank must've shown on his face, because Ross stops what he's doing to look Frank in the face.

“I can protect her Frank. I can give you the tools to protect her.” Ross grips Frank by the back of the neck. “All I need from you is for you to say yes.”

“No where is safe.” Frank retorts. “He can get to anyone.”

“Not to me.” Ross smirks. “And not to the people I have in mind.”

“Who?”

“Say yes Frank.” Ross tears the duct tape away. He hauls Frank to his feet. “I'm offering you what you always wanted, a war that never ends.”

“I need her to be safe.”

“She will be.” Ross nods. “You have my word. You can take her through it if you want, you can live with her if you want, whatever you want. But you have to say yes.”

“If you're lying,” Frank says. “If someone so much as looks at her wrong, I'll kill you.”

Ross doesn't say anything, but he nods in silent affirmation.

“She'll be safe?”

“Yes Frank. She’ll be safe. Will you help me?”

_I'm offering you what you always wanted, a war that never ends._

_She'll be safe._

_Just say yes_.

“Yes sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I saw Captain America: Civil War this past weekend, and Frank joining the Avengers has been bugging me to write it ever since. This will take a bit of time as I'm working my way through this idea very slowly. Please R&R!!!

Ross has Frank flown down to Walter Reed the next morning. He's driven by ambulance to the hospital. At least two guys are with him at all times. Even when the doctors make him strip for his physical, there’s a rifle barrel in his back.

 

The doctor complains loudly to Ross about Frank’s ribs. Uses words like _almost irreparable_ , and _unbelievably careless._

 

They strap him to a gurney, and wheel Frank through a machine. It looks like an MRI, but MRIs don't make your skin itch and your bones twist back into place. It hurts like fuck, but Frank isn't in the mood to give Ross the satisfaction of hearing him whine. He listens to his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and clenches his jaw. The machine clicks off, and he starts breathing again.

 

The doctor says something like _impossible tolerance_ as Frank’s gurney leaves the room.

 

Two massive nurses wheel Frank down a long hallway. The guys with rifles follow them like shadows. The lights make Frank’s eyes hurt.

 

The gurney stops in front of a red door. There’s a new doctor, a pretty little Korean woman. She smiles down at him. He imagines it's the smile doctors give patients with terminal illnesses. The woman taps a pen against the clipboard she holds in her left hand. It clicks audibly in the quiet of the hallway.

 

_You practice that smile in the mirror doc?_ The idea makes him laugh. _God_ he's morbid.

 

“Mr. Castle, I need you to look at me.” The woman’s voice is steady, and pleasant, completely unafraid. “Before we can start the procedure, I need to ask you some questions.”

 

_Just another day at the office._

 

He nods as best he can. “Go ahead.”

 

She smiles that empty little smile at him again. “Thank you.”

 

Click, click, click goes the pen.

 

“You are about to undergo a potentially life threatening medical procedure Mr. Castle. I want to make sure you understand all aspects of this procedure.”

 

Frank blinked. “You're gonna dose me with the Captain America serum, right?”

 

“Essentially, yes.” The doctor said. “It's a bit more complicated in your case. The original subject was much younger and far less…developed.” Frank notices she doesn't say Rodgers. Like she made a point _not_ to. She knows Rodgers. It's not surprising. Ross would want someone with experience with the serum dosing his new boy.

 

He feels tired.

 

“Does it matter if I know this shit?” He asks. The question makes the doctor start.

 

“Usually patients like to know the details of….”

 

Frank laughed. “You're gonna dose me if I want it or not. Do it.”

 

The doctor looks flustered. “Alright.” She gestures at one of the nurses. “We're going to administer a general sedative. Count backwards from one hundred.”

 

There's a prick in his neck. He makes it to ninety before the world goes black.

 

\---------------

Frank returns to the world of the waking with all the tranquility of a double homicide. He lurches upright in his hospital bed, his muscles screaming in protest. His chest heaves for air, smothered by the plastic tube rammed up his nostrils. He tears the tube out and staggers from the bed. He's stumbling towards the door

  


He doesn't know how long they put him out for. It was dark out when he went under, and the world is dark beyond his window, so he's been asleep a day, or an hour. Not very helpful. Ross is asleep in a chair next to the bed. His watch reads 2:40.

 

Cold steel rings Frank’s wrists. Someone figured it'd be a good plan to handcuff Frank to the bed. Frank tugs experimentally and the chains give with a metallic pop. Ross jolts upright in his chair.

 

“Morning sir.” Frank says.

 

“Frank?” Ross is staring at the handcuff chain dangling from Frank’s wrist.

 

“Yes sir.” Frank swings his legs off the bed and stands. The bed creaks. Ross stands quickly.

 

“You alright Frank?”

 

Frank rolls his shoulders. His body feels more dense, more compact.

 

“I'm good.”

 

Ross steps back. “Jesus.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus.”

 

They've put Frank in a hospital gown. He tugs at it. “There a change of clothes somewhere?”

 

“Yeah.” Ross waves at the door. “I'll have someone bring you clothes.” He leaves the room. “Jesus.” Frank can hear Ross barking orders in the hallway outside.

 

A nurse comes in, flanked by two men in uniform. The nurse gasps when she sees Frank, and nearly drops the bundle of clothes she's carrying. One of the guards curses, and the other just stares.

 

“What?” Frank asks.

 

The nurse doesn't answer, and scurries from the room. The guards follow.

 

Ross’d got him a uniform. The boots are maybe half a size too big, but the shirt and pants fit right, and when he blouses the pants, there isn't so much room in the ankles of the dark brown boots. There's no blouse, and no head cover, which Frank finds himself objecting to. He hasn't worn a uniform in a year, hadn't thought he'd want to wear one again, but now it feels wrong to not go all the way, to wear the uniform to standard.

 

Frank leaves the gown on the bedspread. The door handle creaks in protest under his hand. Ross is waiting for him outside, with a contingent of men trying very hard to not look like armed guards. They all stare. It's bugging him.

 

“So what's next?” He asks.

 

Ross takes a couple seconds too long to answer. “We need to swear you in again.”

 

Frank follows Ross down the hall. People are still staring. It's _really_ bugging him. Pins and needles are racing across his skin. Every instinct he's got is screaming instructions at him.

 

_Get a gun._

 

There's a security guard approaching. He's ahead of the element. Frank can get his weapon and be on the guards behind him before they can draw down.

 

_Go for cover._

 

No chance. The whole floor is drywall, there's nothing bulletproof.

 

_Suppress, engage, eliminate._

 

The guards don't have vests on. Frank counts five men. The security guy has an m9, holds ten rounds. That leaves four rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber.

 

_Create space, regain concealment, get moving._

 

They just passed a wall map. He can get that, duck into a stairwell, and get out. _Exfiltrate_.

 

_Go, go, go!_

 

The security guard stares as he passes Frank. Frank stares back. The guard walks faster. Frank doesn't take the guy’s weapon.

 

They walk in silence to the end of the hall. Two military police stand either side of a doorway. The pair salute Ross, and the General turns to face Frank.

 

“It's just in here.” Ross says. “Won't take long, then we can get to...you okay Frank?”

 

_“Sir.”_ Frank’s voice sounds like gravel and diesel. “Why am I being stared at?”

 

Ross blinks. Then he points to the door. “Take a look.”

 

There's a small window in the door. A face stares at Frank from within the glass, a face he only latently realizes is his own. It's as though someone carved his face in granite. Any softness in the flesh of his face is gone. The skin under and around his eyes is gaunt, creating deep shadows along his cheeks.

 

“Huh.”

 

His forearms look like a bundle of steel cables wrapped in plastic. He slowly articulates each of his fingers, and watches as the muscles of his arms dance.

 

“The results were more extreme than Dr. Cho expected.” Ross opens the door. “I can get her to explain it to you when we're done.”

 

Frank shakes his head. “Let's just get on with it.”

 

Ross swears Frank in personally. Part of his control shtick, Frank knows. He makes sure to stare directly into Ross’ eyes. The General doesn't maintain eye contact. He's afraid of Frank. He reeks of it. It must be dawning on Ross, watching his newest creation rise from the operating table, that his new monster might be as dangerous as his old one. Frank smiles, and Ross stares at the floor.

 

“I swear to uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States of America from all enemies,” The words ripple along his mind. Purpose, the soldier's drug, tears through him. “Foreign and domestic.”

 

“So help me God.” Ross finishes.

 

Frank laughs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a continuation of Go Easy, sort of, and might turn into something way bigger.


End file.
